Go to Day Six
Somewhere I learned that medieval romantic poetry wasn’t about boys and girls falling in love but the mystic separation between humanity and God. In spite of searching, I haven’t found a poem expressing that duality. The closest I have come today is Etta James.
I have never been faithful in romantic relationships. Relationships with women have been like an investment portfolio. This is a way of coping with the need for intimacy, but keeping a distance. Everyone is a mystery to everyone else, but in society we learn to feign closeness, holding on to our secrets anyway. I’ve just never been able to pull that off in romance or with people in general.
Your world runs Windows, and I’m running MS-DOS.
A woman I neglected once let me know she resonated with Robin’s Dancing on My Own. Recently, I watched this clip from Lena Dunham’s Girls.
After something stupid and sad happens, the roommate comes home and there is a moment of shared vulnerability. I hope the woman I abandoned has found that with someone. I know I never will. For me, people up close usually end up being disappointing at best and stupid and cruel at worst.
From far away, people are beautiful as they pursue their rational self-interest and struggle through life. This is going to have to be satisfying enough for me, like watching Mandeville’s bee hive buzzing and thriving. People truly are beautiful.
As for the mystical medieval romance, my Saint of choice is Saint George. George didn’t slay the dragon to get the girl, he saved the King’s daughter from the monster on the condition that the kingdom convert to Christianity. That’s what I’d call value exchange. And as life unfolds I am learning to embrace the lonely joy of humanity from a distance.
Got to Day Eight